Way too Much
by Melchinafan
Summary: Azalyth reflecting again, but with much more to think about this time.


Story blurb number two, after being shot out of a cannon several times to try to land in a shallow river, and a short visit to the Darkmoon Faire. Much has gone on for Azy since then, but most of it involves conversations she's had, and it's not so easy to fit it in with what I've done so far with my blurbs. The last paragraph of this one can be replaced with the alternate ending. If you're curious, she's yet to remember the recipe, but has made eyeball pie for Langley.

* * *

Azalyth sat in one of the chairs by the fire at the faire, careful not to get too close; she had just been told earlier that 'formerly-dead' people were particularly flammable."Wow, today was crazy; getting launched from a cannon, flying kodos, tauren tickling a bat...he he, such fun." A vague smile twitched at the corners of her mouth, though her brow furrowed; there was so much mulling about in her head that had happened recently. She sighed, quietly listing them aloud: "Aldor, my robes, that paladin..._Langley_...I know none of it is their fault, but they're all making me _feel_ so damn much! It's so...so..." Her voice trailed off as she got to thinking about each thing. She absentmindedly made attempts to cast small Mind Blasts on the bugs at her feet, but could hardly manage more than tiny Shadow Bolts. 

First, she had made a visit to the Aldor, to see how friendly they were, and ended up involved in one of their prayers. This lead to her digging out and fixing up the robes she received when she first became a priest, which she changed into upon hearing of a human paladin coming to pray in the ruins every so often. She found him rather nice, and took a liking to him; and occasionally joined him in prayer, as odd as it felt. All that lead to old memories resurfacing, and conflicts in her head: she was a warlock now, not a priest! She had no right praying with such beings devoted to the Light, or wearing their garb! She had even felt out of place just sitting in the room where the priests went to train in Silvermoon City, no matter which robes she wore, on one particular visit to Langley...

Ah, Langley. That amazing, silly elf. Who'd have thought she'd meet someone not only as fond of eating eyeballs as she was, but one who was still living and breathing? And among such uptight brethren, at that! Oh, and he was so much _fun_ to just be around, and so _nice_, and..._it all tore her insides to shreds._ He alone made her feel so much more than she had in all her unlife; even more than she felt when she thought about the man she had loved in life! It seemed so very wrong--she _knew _her love was still alive, _somewhere_, but it felt as if...as if...

No. She couldn't _possibly_...she was very fond of Langley--and well, who wasn't, really?--he meant a _lot_ to her, but there was _no way _she could..._**love**_ him. By the Light, she couldn't even give him a simple _hug_ should the urge arise! It was almost too much for her; she feared her mind would break down if she didn't do something.

"I should...talk to someone. Yes...Adanthus! He knows Langley, and he was there when..." She raised a hand to her cheek, wondering why Langley would do it now and again, why he painted his face the way he did...and why he had seemed like his own mind had almost broken when Adanthus asked him to be best man at his wedding. All her thinking slowly built up in her, getting her overexcited--not entirely in a _good_ way, mind you--and she accidentally fired off a large-ish Bolt at the ground, leaving a patch of dead grass next to her foot.

" 'Ey! Watch it, you! This ain't just _your_ faireground, ya know!" A carnie snarled at her from next to the wagon.

"Ah...yes...sorry, sorry." She restricted her hands to her lap, wringing them to try to help refocus, hoping Langley had found something on the other side of the faire interesting enough to have missed her 'outburst.' "Aye. I'll speak to Adanthus, should I get the chance. I'm sure he'll be able to help me." With that, she closed her eyes and napped, hoping for quiet, untroubled dreams.

* * *

**Alternate ending: **  
"Ah...yes...sorry, sorry." She restricted her hands to her lap, wringing them to try to help refocus, hoping Langley had found something on the other side of the faire interesting enough to have missed her 'outburst.' After taking a moment to settle, she reached for her bag; a good read might help her calm down. In her effort to get out the book Langley had let her borrow, her hand bumped against something juicy; she pulled out the gift Kerameikon had given her earlier. Just before she popped the murloc eyeball into her mouth, a thought--nay, a memory--flashed across her mind. "Soup...stew...falling ste--West...Westfall Stew! That's it!" Her face lit up as she remembered having gathered many similar eyes for some farmer's wife so she could make the stew, and how it had been rather tastey, indeed. She'd have to try to remember the recipe, so she could make some for Langley. With a loud _schlurp!_ she sucked the eyeball from her fingers, chewing away happily as she grabbed the book out of her bag and began reading, content with her plans. 


End file.
